


As Real As

by Roga



Category: Bandom, Panic! at the Disco
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Fake/Pretend Relationship, First Kiss, M/M, School Dances, background (and internal) homophobia, brendon urie: best fake college boyfriend, high school loneliness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 02:16:29
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9471032
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Roga/pseuds/Roga
Summary: "That's right," Spencer tells Brent, pacing the lawn outside Brent's house, "apparently at my high school, having a college boyfriendtrumps all."Or: it's not easy being the only out kid at school, until Spencer finds a way to raise his social status.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sena/gifts).



> AU where Spencer's a year below Brendon and Ryan in school because why not! Posted in Jan 2012 on LJ for the bandomstuffsit exchange, which I apparently never crossposted here.

Spencer's problem is that he isn't an athlete.

Well, okay, no. Spencer's problem is that he's gay, or possibly that he's gay and everyone knows it, but it's not like there's much he can do about either his sexual orientation ("Don't be a fucktard, Spence," Ryan had told him once when he'd suggested it, and even though Spencer logically knows that he should Stay True To Himself and that being gay isn't A Problem, he still stupidly holds on to Ryan _telling_ him so), or about people knowing about it (because closing your eyes and wishing really hard and whispering " _Obliviate_ " doesn't actually work in real life, Spencer knows from experience.)

So really, the first thing on Spencer's list of _solvable_ problems is that he's not an athlete.

Which is, unfortunately, proving out not to be as solvable a problem as he'd thought.

"Spence, buddy. I don't know how to tell you this." Coach Saporta crouches down to Spencer's level and sits on his heels, the soles of his pleats squelching in the mud. Spencer can see them close up and slightly lopsided from his position on the grass, where he's managed to end up after a rather impressive flip that should at the very least be able to earn him a place on the cheerleading squad. Not that being a cheerleader could actually bring Spencer's social status at the school anywhere but down. 

Spencer groans. 

Saporta folds his hands. "You have the coordination of a sick, limping puppy. The closest I want you to my soccer field is off-season when they use it for that game with the foot and the ball, you know the one, and even then I would honestly advise that you stick to percussion, okay?"

Someone sends a soccer ball flying in their direction, and Saporta kicks his leg out to block it before it slams into Spencer's gut, yelling, " _Time out_ , assholes."

Spencer kind of feels like the hit landed anyway.

Saporta pats him on the head. "Percussion, mi amigo," he says. "Maybe with a helmet. Could never hurt."

*

Brent calls him when he's in the middle of doing his math homework.

"I'm in the middle of homework," Spencer says morosely.

"I'm standing outside your window, dude," Brent says. "I can see you lying face down on your bed. I can actually hear My Chemical Romance through the walls. You should probably let me in because this is really pathetic."

Spencer sighs and lets Brent in. Brent turns down the volume of Spencer's stereo, rendering Gerard Way's voice almost completely ineffective. Spencer has found that at the right volume, Gerard Way's voice communes directly with his _soul_.

"So soccer tryouts went well, then?" Brent asks. 

Spencer grunts into his pillow, and Brent sighs, sitting down on Spencer's bed. Something crinkles under the covers. If he were any other teenaged boy, Spencer thinks, if he were any normal _human being_ , it would probably be condom wrappers. As it is, it's probably just a bag of chips. Probably a bag of half-eaten chips that now smell like Brent's thighs. 

"I don't even know why you tried out, dude," Brent says. "Who the fuck wants to play soccer?"

Spencer raises his hand and points down at his head.

Brent snorts. "Still not getting it."

"Talk to me again when you're the only out kid in school and have no friends other the second floor janitor," Spencer says. "Oh wait, he doesn't like me either."

"Both of your sisters go to your school," Brent points out.

This time Spencer does lift his face from his cozy little pillow bed to stare at Brent. "Having my freshman twin sisters on speaking terms with me really does set a new standard for a social life. Besides," he says, "you think _their_ idea of a good time at school is hanging out with their loser older brother?"

Brent punches him in the ankle softly, either because Brent's a wimp or because he really feels that sorry for Spencer. "The twins like you absolutely fine."

Spencer doesn't even know what to do with his life that these are the best words of comfort his friends can offer him. 

Well, friend. Who doesn't even go to the same school as him. Spencer sighs so deeply and morosely that he knocks Brent's thigh-chips off the bed. 

"I just need this year to be over," he says, sinking his face down again.

That's not all Spencer needs. He needs to not be gay, or to not be the only out kid in school, or for drumming or jazz band or marching band to get even a fraction of the cool points given to jocks instead of being the lamest most underfunded clubs at school, or for Ryan not to have _graduated_ and left Spencer abandoned and friendless in Bishop Gorman. Spencer would also settle for Ryan and Brendon dropping out of college and Spencer and Brent dropping out of high school and Panic! becoming a huge famous rock band. They could change their names to The Dropouts. 

"What if we--" 

"We're not changing our name to The Dropouts, Spence, please don't ask me that again." 

"Fine," Spencer grumbles. "We can drop out _without_ changing our name."

Brent shrugs. "If you're okay with Brendon losing basically any remaining contact with his family this time."

"Augh, I hate you." Also logic, Spencer hates logic. Along with Brendon's family. And the universe.

He does get Brent to do one of his math problems before he leaves, so the afternoon isn't a total loss. Or well, it's just as depressing, except with a little less homework. 

Spencer's life is awesome.

*

Ryan fucking laughs at him when Spencer tells him about the soccer. 

"Shut the fuck up," Spencer says, and automatically scowls at where Ryan _would_ be sitting across from him at their regular lunch table if this were last year, which is now occupied by a Ryan-shaped empty space. 

"It's too bad the school doesn't have a hockey team," Ryan muses. "I would have rocked that."

"If the other players could tell you apart from a goal post," Spencer says, taking a bite of his greasy cafeteria pizza. "Since when are we talking about you anyway?"

"My mistake," Ryan says dryly. He sounds like he's somewhere with a lot of people. Spencer tries to visualize him on one of the grass lawns of the UNLV campus. It feels like an entire world away. Spencer's pizza tastes even more tasteless in his mouth. "Look, Spence," Ryan says, something in his voice changing. "Just--don't give a fuck, okay?"

Easier fucking said than done. Spencer throws imaginary Ryan a bitchface.

"Stop giving me that bitchface," Ryan adds, which, totally against his will, makes Spencer crack a smile. He really wishes Ryan were here.

Ryan says he has to go to class, but he stays on the phone with Spencer until Spencer finishes his lunch anyway, just so Spencer doesn't eat alone.

*

Given that this is the cycle of Spencer's life now—gym class (aka Spencer the Locker Room Pariah), regular classes, lunch with Imaginary Ryan, Awkward Jazz, sometimes hanging out with Brent after school, and so on and so forth—Spencer does not even pretend to be above having a countdown calendar to band practice. It's not even a mental calendar. It's right there, taped to the inside of his locker, days carefully crossed out in boring blue pen because glittery markers aren't going to make Spencer feel better, but _days passing_ will.

It's the 20th, which means 19 more days till Ryan and Brendon are back in town. That's almost closer to two weeks than three weeks, it's basically 6 cycles of 3 days plus one, whatever, it's bearable. 

Spencer steels himself with this thought heading down to Awkward Jazz.

He's the last person there, as planned, slipping in to sit in the back behind his kit. Mr. Taylor talks about the recital he's planning for them at the end of the trimester, and then Spencer counts them in and starts playing. No one turns around to look at him, which is, frankly, better than the whispers he was still getting a few weeks ago. It's not the most interesting beats Spencer's ever played, but it's all the drumming he can get, and Spencer needs the practice.

When practice is over, spencer tries to slip out as silently as he came in, but of course, of _course_ he collides with someone in his haste to leave, and it's not just someone, it's Mike, who turns red as a beet and stares at the ground, mumbles "Sorry," and disappears without even looking at Spencer's face. Spencer manages shake off the humiliation long enough to unfreeze, pick up his bag and leave the room, heart still pounding in his throat. He feels everyone staring at him and he's pretty sure he's not imagining it.

He stumbles up the stairs from the practice space to the main hallway as quickly as he can and turns a corner into a quieter hallway, dropping down to lean against the lockers just to let his heart rate slow before heading home.

It's not like anything _happened_. It's just Awkward Jazz being awkward. It's Spencer's fault for continuing to go there after Mike turned him down, haha, after Mike turned out not to even be _gay_ , after Spencer's delusions about maybe actually having a boyfriend ended with everyone _knowing_ and Spencer's stupid crush and only friend saying, "Sorry, Spence, I'm not—" and Jazz becoming an awkwardfest of humiliation because Mike still played the sax and if there's one thing Spencer isn't giving up, it's drumming.

Spencer's still waiting for his probably horribly obvious blush to fade when his phone beeps. It's a text from Brendon.

_19 days bro figured out new riff for Tacks, will be awesome :)_

Something both aches and releases in Spencer's chest. God, he wishes Brendon were less than four hours away. He wishes he didn't feel like such a loser for wanting to call just to hear Brendon's voice, but "Fuck it," he mutters, and dials.

Brendon sounds happy when he picks up. "Hey! How's it going? I have class in five minutes but until then I'm yours." 

"Just got out of Jazz," Spencer says. "It was—we played Summertime ten times. It was thrilling."

Brendon snickers. "I can imagine. We have a big band ensemble here, I can hear them practice from my hall sometimes, it's pretty cool."

"You gonna sign up?"

"Nah. Not now, anyhow. If I sign up for anything else I literally won't have any time left for video games, and then we'll have nothing to talk about." 

It's a clean segue from there to _Halo 2_ vs _Halo: Combat Evolved_ , and it's a little sad how five minutes of talking with Brendon leave Spencer feeling better than he's felt all week. 

"Shit, I gotta go," Brendon says finally. "If I'm late to this class again my ass is fucked."

"So college is treating you like you wanted it to, then," Spencer grins.

"Mmm, fuck yeah," Brendon says, in that stupid deep voice of his that he thinks is sexy. "My ass is going to be really bored when it gets back to Vegas." Spencer wonders just how much Brendon is kidding around and how much of it is serious. Brendon can talk a big game, but maybe now that he's in college, far from home and kind of out and on his own, he really is playing it. 

Spencer should probably stop thinking about what kind of action Brendon is or is not getting anyway.

"Okay, let's stop talking about your ass," Spencer says.

"Why do people keep telling me that?" Brendon sighs. "Okay, dude, I'm hanging up, can't wait to see you soon."

"Yeah, can't wait to see you too," Spencer says. He flexes his fingers, pretends he's twirling a drumstick, imagines playing with his band again. "Even your ass."

Brendon laughs. "I miss you, dude," he says easily, and hangs up. 

Spencer smiles into the dead mouthpiece. "I miss you too."

*

Things start getting a little bit weird the next week. 

It starts with whispers in the hallways. Which, okay, is the sort of thing that's been happening since The Mike Incident (as opposed to yesterday's Mike incident, lowercase, hardly a dent in the timeline of Spencer's year of fail), but where the whispers until now had been accompanied by turned backs and shifting feet and Spencer had known what they were _about_ , now they're accompanied by—giggles, and raised eyebrows, and Spencer's gotten enough onceovers that he's sure there must be an enormous stain on his jeans that everyone can see but him.

On Tuesday, Spencer's lab partner Alice, whom he doesn't remember speaking a single word to him outside Bio, walks him to his next class, which she has apparently suddenly noticed they share.

On Wednesday, three people smile at him when he comes into jazz practice. Tony Atkins, Spencer is pretty sure, winks.

On Thursday, Spencer is picked _third_ -to-last in gym class, which, haha, legitimately freaks him the fuck out.

And on Friday, Jackie and Crystal join him for lunch.

"So," Jackie says, sliding her tray across from him and plopping down on top of Imaginary Ryan. Her eyes are narrowed. "We hear you have a boyfriend." 

Spencer spits out his coke. "What?"

*

The facts, as well as Spencer can make them out, are these: when Katie Jacobs left jazz practice following the (lowercase) Mike incident, she overheard Spencer talking to someone in the hallway. In the conversation, Spencer was overheard a) laughing b) flirting c) talking about the guy's college experience d) and the guy's ass e) while making suggestive gestures with his fingers (" _What_ ," Spencer had choked, earning his sisters spittake #2), and finally f) ended by telling the guy he missed him and couldn't wait to see him. All of these led Katie Jacobs to the logical deduction that Spencer Smith, Bishop Gorman's own, had a college boyfriend.

 _Furthermore_ , if he were to continue sketching out the diagram on the mental chalkboard of his mind, furthermore, it seemed that the unwritten social hierarchy at Bishop Gorman, to Spencer's complete, newfound befuddlement, was:

Friendless gay kid < jazz band < marching band < drama club < school paper < stoners < guys with girlfriends < girls with boyfriends < cheerleaders < jocks < ANYONE WITH A COLLEGE  
BOY/GIRLFRIEND REGARDLESS OF GENDER.

" _That's right_ ," Spencer tells Brent, pacing the lawn outside Brent's house, "apparently at my high school, having a college boyfriend _trumps all_."

"More than being in a rock band?" Brent says.

"I'll let you know when I'm in a rock band whose groupies include more than just my grandma," Spencer says.

"That's not really fair to my grandma," Brent says, which, fair point, Brent's grandma owns the prototype of the Panic! t-shirt. 

"More to the point," Spencer says, "what am I supposed to do now?"

"Be yourself and not care what society thinks and definitely not pander to the fucked up social pyramid perpetrated by a bunch of teenagers?"

"That's right!" says Spencer. "Keep pretending Brendon is my college boyfriend and become the most popular guy in school!"

Brent blinks. "Uh, what just happened there?"

"Okay, no, you're right. All I need is to not be the biggest loser at the school. Seriously, that's good enough for me. Those are my standards."

"You can see how this isn't the greatest idea," Brent says. "Lying--"

"--is the most fun thing a boy can have without taking his clothes off, please never tell Ryan I said that. Or any part of this conversation. Besides," Spencer points out. "I'm not lying, I'm just letting people continue to believe their own assumptions. Is omission really a lie? I don't think so."

"I think so, actually." 

"Brent," Spencer says. "Brent. I—look. I'll fake break up with him, okay? I might even get some sympathy points. Just. For now. I could really, really, really use a few weeks of..." Of not being so fucking lonely. "Of peace, okay?"

Brent gives him a long look, but eventually shrugs. "Do what you like. I'm not gonna tattle or anything." 

"It'll be fine," Spencer promises. "It'll just be for a while."

All Spencer needs to figure out now is how to actually pretend to have a boyfriend, considering he's never actually had one.

Brent snorts when Spencer brings this up. "Yeah dude, I don't think that's going to be too much of an issue with you and Brendon."

Spencer frowns. "What do you mean?"

"Just that you two sometimes act like, you know."

Spencer raises an eyebrow, and immediately regrets it when Brent makes a gesture for fucking. Spencer scowls. "Brendon's in fucking Utah," he says, "even my dick isn't that long, asshole."

Brent grins. "Aren't you wearing his t-shirt?"

Spencer glances down. He is, actually wearing a UNU t-shirt, something Brendon left at his house a few months ago that got mixed with Spencer's laundry. "I like the color," he says.

"Whatever, dude," Brent says. "I'm just saying. I don't think you'll have to work too hard at pretending."

*

Brent is half-right. Pretending to have a boyfriend, especially one who's out of town, isn't a lot of hard work; it actually doesn't really require a lot of work at all. Sometimes, though, it can just be—hard. 

Spencer doesn't change much about his routine, but the world suddenly seems to take an interest in his existence. From not eating alone at the school cafeteria to getting invited to parties he never even knew existed, Spencer feels like he's started the entire year over again in some kind of alternate universe. He's not under any illusions that he's making any new lifelong friends, but oh, life is easier this way; so much easier.

So okay, maybe he feels a tiny, tiny stab in the gut every time he mentions his "boyfriend".

Spencer very carefully doesn't analyze whether it's a stab of guilt for misleading other people about having a boyfriend, or the aching stab of really wanting it to be true.

He's not hurting anyone. And he's going to end this soon.

Really. 

Any day now.

*

Band practice on the 20th goes fine. 

It's better than fine, actually, it's kind of spectacular. Spencer's thrilled to have Brendon and Ryan in town, even if it's only for a day, and playing their own music is invigorating in a way that—no other music has felt this way to Spencer, ever. They need a lot of practice—more than the once a month they manage to coordinate between them, for sure—but in those moments when they hit their stride, Spencer really, truly believes they can make it someday. 

It's both a relief and a little strange to realize that nothing has actually changed in his relationship with Brendon. Spencer picks Brendon up from his parents' house about an hour after the Greyhound brings him into the city, and they spend the morning hanging out and playing PS3 and messing around with Spencer's kit and Brendon's new guitar until Ryan and Brent show up for practice, and it's all—extremely normal. Almost disappointingly so.

"So I hear congratulations are in order," Ryan tells Spencer after Friday night dinner at the Smiths', when they're climbing up to Spencer's room.

"Brent," Spencer hisses accusingly.

"Your sisters, actually," Ryan says, "but it's nice to know I'm even lower on the rung of people you confide in than I'd thought. Your sisters, Brent, your entire school, and then me. Check." 

"No, it's—" For a moment Spencer panics and considers lying to Ryan, but honestly, he just can't think of a believable lie. He makes sure the door is shut before taking a breath and blurting, "It's not real, okay? Oh, fuck, don't tell anyone."

Ryan rolls his eyes. "Of course it's not real."

 _Ow._ "You don't think Brendon and I could be dating?" Spencer says indignantly.

Ryan rolls his eyes even harder. "I think Brendon would be fully incapable of not talking about it if you were. And he didn't mention it when I—"

"Oh god tell me you didn't—"

"—asked him."

" _Ryan_ ," Spencer groans. 

"Relax, I only asked him whether he was seeing anyone right now. He isn't, by the way, so you don't have to worry about any pissed off boyfriend or girlfriend driving down from Utah to kick your jailbait ass. You're welcome."

"Okay, you know that confirming that a hypothetical boyfriend who might have beaten me up don't exist, doesn't actually count as you saving me from them in any way?"

Ryan sighs. "Spence," he says, sitting in Spencer's rolling chair. "I have no idea what the fuck you're doing, but be careful, okay? It's gonna be really hard to train a new drummer if you move out of town and change your name."

"Don't worry," Spencer says quickly. "You and Brent are the only ones who know it's fake, no one else will find out."

"That's not what—" Ryan shakes his head. "Look, having a girlfriend—or, I guess, having a boyfriend—it feels nice."

Ryan's voice has taken on a didactic quality that sounds like he's trying to give Spencer the Talk. Spencer starts to snicker. "Girlfriends are nice. This is like, the point of all our songs."

Ryan gives him the finger and continues. "It feels nice, it's a good feeling, and you just—you have to remember it's not real."

Spencer tries not to get annoyed. "I know it's not real. It's just temporary anyway."

"Okay," Ryan says. "I'm just saying—you deserve something real, okay, and this isn't it. Don't get used to it."

*

The thing is, having people not be assholes to you all day long is really easy to get used to. Which makes fake-breaking-up with Brendon very unappealing. It's not that school's that much greater now than it was—Spencer would still much rather go with the The Dropouts plan and make it big than, like, basically anything—but things aren't awful now, and Spencer's grades are better, and Spencer's got three girls vying over who gets to get him as their trendy gay BFF, and Terry Kaminsky regularly comes to Spencer for girlfriend advice because he thinks Spencer can tell him, from a girl's perspective, what it means to have a good boyfriend. Spencer is frankly surprised his advice hasn't yet caused the destruction of Terry and Gina's relationship, but he figures it's always possible that he himself is a font of great relationship advice and he's just never known it.

He keeps meaning to come clean. Or, well, to arrange a fake breakup. There's just never enough reason to actually do it.

Until three months later, when Crystal comes up to Spencer during recess and says, "People are starting to talk."

"That's why people have mouths and ears. So they can communicate. You'll learn it in Bio when you're a junior."

"About you and Brendon," Crystal says, and each word feels like a chunk of ice sinking in Spencer's gut.

He tries not to let it show in his face. "What?"

"Come here," Crystal says, grabbing his hand and dragging him into a more secluded hallway. "Look. Why doesn't anyone ever see you hang out with Brendon?"

"He's—he's in a different state."

"He could come visit."

"He does!" Spencer protests. Brendon's been down for band practice exactly three times since Spencer started his charade, but his visits are usually short and focused and even if he did have enough free time to go out with Spencer, Spencer preferred to avoid any chance of them being noticed, recognized, and most importantly, confronted in public.

"He's never come to any of the school dances," Crystal points out.

"He has school. And midterms. And he's in college," Spencer says, hoping to god he doesn't sound as desperate as he feels, "why would he come to a lame high school dance?"

Crystal sighs. "Look, Spence, I'm just telling you what people are saying, okay? I don't know what the deal is, or why you made Jackie and me promise to hide you and Brendon from Mom and Dad. I just know that people are starting to get suspicious, and the other day I heard a girl from your class joking over whether Brendon was even real or not, except some people were taking it seriously."

Spencer swallows down the bile in his throat. Oh, fuck.

*

For a few days, Spencer tries to formulate a plan of how and when exactly to orchestrate the break up. By the time he thinks he's figured out a plan, though, it may be too late, because Katie turns back to look at him in the middle of jazz band, leans in, and whispers, "So, Winter Formal." She smiles at Spencer. "Is Brendon coming?"

Spencer swallows. "I'm, uh, not sure," he says, clutching his drumsticks tightly.

"Why not?"

"Well, he has school, you know how it is," Spencer says.

Katie's smile dims a little. "It's on a Saturday. He can't take one evening off to come see you in your final year of high school?"

"No, he—I don't know," Spencer flounders. "The truth is, we're not in the best place right now."

Oh god, is this how people talk about break-ups? Should Spencer have said their relationship was _on the rocks_ instead? Which one sounds more believable?

Spencer needs to stop thinking before he blurts out something about irreconcilable differences. 

"Oh, no," Katie says, frowning. Next to her, Spencer can see some of the other kids exchange glances. Lizzie raises an eyebrow at Alton, murmurs, "Convenient," and Spencer can feel himself flush.

"Listen, I really hope things work out with you guys," Katie says meaningfully. "We're all really looking forward to meeting Brendon at the dance."

"Thanks," Spencer manages to say, before Mr. Taylor makes Spencer count them in again.

Spencer doesn't think he's ever been that off-beat in his life.

*

Brent is absolutely no help, seeing as his only suggestion is that Spencer actually ask Brendon to the dance. Ryan offers to pretend to be Brendon, and frighteningly enough seems to believe it might actually work, forgetting that everyone at Bishop Gorman actually knew who Ryan was. Spencer suspects Ryan has spent his single college semester reading way too much Shakespeare.

"Fuck, Ry," he says on the phone, curled up in his bed; he couldn't bring himself to have this conversation even in proximity to the school, for fear that someone would overhear. "What do I do? I can't go from being the gay loser to being the gay loser who invented a fake boyfriend all year long. I just—" Fuck, Spencer thinks he might cry.

"You could always tell Brendon," Ryan says quietly.

"Now you sound like Brent," Spencer says. "I'm not going to ask Brendon out on a date just because I got myself into this huge mess."

Spencer doesn't even know what would be worse: Brendon finding out what an utter loser he was, Brendon accepting a date out of pity, or Brendon, for real, turning him down. 

"No, I mean," Ryan says, "tell him the whole deal. Don't underestimate him. He might surprise you."

*

Spencer's thoughts churn over and over in his mind until five hours later he literally can't think about it for another minute or his head will explode. He gathers all of the courage he can muster, mutters a quick prayer, and dials Brendon's number.

"Hey," he croaks out after Brendon picks up, cheerful as always, the rustle and bustle of his faraway life faintly audible in the background. "So, uh." _It has been many moons since my last confession._

Brendon must pick up on the fact something's different, because he says, "Hold on, let me get somewhere more quiet," and a few moments later Spencer can hear a door shut on Brendon's end and all the noise fades away. "Hey," Brendon says, gentler this time. "What's wrong?"

Spencer closes his eyes, and starts talking.

"So," he says, when he's done. "The dance is on March 1st, and I know it's a huge, huge favor to ask, but—" he swallows. "I have no idea what to do."

"Spencer Smith," Brendon says, and oh god, god, Spencer thinks he's grinning. "Are you asking me out to be your pretend boyfriend at Winter Formal?"

"I—" _Please don't lord it over my head for forever, please please please say yes_. "Yes?"

"It would be my honor," Brendon says, and Spencer can literally feel his body shudder with relief, fuck. 

" _Thank_ you, oh man," Spencer says. "I could—thank you, I owe you big time, so fucking big time. I will totally let you beat me at whatever game you want and not tell you that I let you win, for like, a year."

Brendon laughs. "Dude, don't sweat it, seriously. There are worse things I could be doing with my life than taking you out to dances."

Jesus, Spencer is so high on relief right now it almost feels like Brendon is flirting with him. 

"So, you can work it out with classes?" Spencer asks, just to be sure. "March 1st?"

"I will make it," Brendon promises. "Dude, seriously, don't worry. I will be the awesomest date you have ever had." 

Pretty much by default, actually, since Spencer hasn't actually ever gone out on any dates. He wonders if a fake date counts.

*

Spencer doesn't quite _strut_ around school the following day, but he will admit to himself, he's cutting it kind of close.

*

Spencer waits until he's halfway through clearing the dishes so he can escape if he needs to, before telling his mom, "Brendon's taking me to Winter Formal."

"Oh, that's nice," his mom says, not looking up from her magazine. "Do you have band practice that weekend?"

"No, I mean." There are three plates in the sink, and Spencer starts rinsing them off. "As a date."

His mom pauses mid page-flip.

"It's not anything serious," he continues quickly, "we're not, like, really dating, this is just a—we're trying this out. Just—so you know."

His mom's gaze is contemplative. "Do you want to talk about it?"

"No," Spencer says. "Please don't make it into a big thing."

Spencer's parents know he's gay. They know Brendon's bi. They've known for months, and it's not like Spencer thought he'd get kicked out or anything, but he's still never gone out on a date with a boy before. 

His mom gives him a small smile. "Okay. Thanks for letting me know. I'm not making it a big thing."

Spencer towels the rest of the dishes. "Okay."

After a moment, she asks, "Can I tell your grandmother?"

"Mom."

"Can I tell your Aunt Charlie?"

" _Mom_."

"Okay, but I'm telling your father," she says, picking up the phone.

"I'm going away now," Spencer says loudly, but he's not completely successful in fighting the grin off his face.

*

The last things Spencer needs getting ready for the dance are Ryan and Brent's multitudes of opinions, so instead he opts for his mom's advice in formalwear: black suit, white shirt, no tie, and a really nice pair of shoes that Spencer keeps staring at whenever they cross his eyesight, they're so gorgeous.

Brendon called that he was on his way fifteen minutes ago, and Spencer's been psyching himself up ever since, his stomach a tangle of nerves, and he feels so stupid cause it's just _Brendon_. There's nothing to be nervous about. They're just going to hang out with all of Spencer's friends, who are probably faker than Brendon is his fake boyfriend, and hopefully they will be believable enough to hold off rumors for the three months left until Spencer graduates, and Spencer will let Brendon win at whatever game he wants to for a year because he will totally totally owe him. 

Still, he's tense and ready to jump at the ring of the doorbell, which is why he's surprised, but _relieved_ , to get a text instead:

_am outside w/carriage, you ready? :)_

His mom is waiting downstairs with the digital camera. "Hahaha," Spencer says, "No."

"Just one photo," she says.

"You can take a look at me and imprint me on your mind, memories are stronger than pixels." He kisses her on the cheek and opens the front door. "Thanks for the clothes help, love you bye," he squeezes in, before closing the door behind him.

Brendon's waiting on the front step, and he's. 

He's _Brendon_. But he's also a really hot guy pulling off wingtips and black slacks and a clean pressed shirt and fucking suspenders, hair falling forward over his forehead, and Spencer's very first thought is _holy shit, we need to get that guy on an album cover._

His second thought is that Brendon has really gorgeous smile. Which might be worth staring at even more than Spencer's shoes. 

"Hey," Brendon says brightly. He looks like he's bouncing on his toes. Spencer wonders if he's at all nervous. "You look good."

Spencer tries not to blush. Does Brendon mean that Spencer looks good and they'll make a believable good-looking couple at the dance, or does he mean that _Brendon_ really thinks _Spencer_ looks good?

Ugh, having a fake boyfriend was a lot less confusing when the dude was actually fake.

"You too," Spencer says, and Brendon's grin widens. 

"What do you think of the suspenders? I got them from Dallon, one of the guys I told you about. These are all the rage in Utah, which, you know—"

Spencer grins. "Clearly a sign of superior fashion taste."

"Exactly! But I have decided to rock them as best I can." 

Spencer doesn't know how to reply without sounding like he's completely flirting with Brendon, so instead he goes with, "You ready to go?"

Brendon mock salutes, and leads them to his van. 

*

Spencer can't exactly say he wasn't expecting the tidal wave of whispers that overtakes the gym when he and Brendon enter, but for once, he's not unhappy with it.

"Wow," Brendon says in a low voice, leaning in close to Spencer's ear. "Either nobody at your school has seriously ever seen a gay couple before, or I am _really_ rocking these suspenders."

It turns out, Spencer discovers, that having someone breathe softly next to your ear can be really distracting. Did Brendon brush his teeth in the car or something when Spencer wasn't looking? He smells like mint and soap and—cleanliness. Spencer thinks he may have a thing for cleanliness.

He says, "I'm giving you a moratorium of just over 24 hours to talk about your suspenders, after which you're not allowed to talk about them anymore. New band rule."

"Oh, we're using band rules now?" Brendon says. "Fine. Band rule: I take you out to a dance, you need to give me ten actual dances in return."

Spencer groans. "The whole purpose of this was to make me _not_ look like a complete and utter loser, B, don't make me dance."

"Dude, we are going to be the hottest couple on the dance floor," Brendon says. "Trust me."

Three dances in, Spencer can't help but agree, although he can't take credit for any of the dancing; he mostly just sways to the beat as Brendon dances around him, sometimes looking like a dork, sometimes like a pro Broadway dancer, and every once in a while Spencer will get a glimpse of Brendon-on-stage, the kind of moves that can't really be contained by a high school gym; the kind that make him want to put Brendon in an arena full of thousands and thousands of people just to see what he would do. (Also, Spencer admits to himself, to be able to freely stare at Brendon's ass. Because there are perks to being a drummer.)

When they take a break, Brendon's hair is mussed up and a little sweaty, and Spencer fixes it for him, realizing as he does so that he may have a thing for sweatiness. 

Spencer is beginning to sense a disturbing trend.

Brendon is standing really close, eyes closed as Spencer messes with his hair, and there's probably some kind of distortion field that's making Brendon's eyelashes look twice as long as biologically possible, so Spencer takes a step back, brushing a last strand of hair into order, and Brendon makes this sound, like—well, that's not new, Spencer's always known Brendon likes playing with his hair. Or, it turns out, having his hair played with.

Brendon blinks his eyes open lazily. "Next," he says, like he has a checklist of all school-dance related things and he plans to go through them all. "Photo-op?"

As they line up in front of the photo booth, people Spencer knows start coming up to say hello.

"So you must be Brendon," Katie Jacobs says, extending a hand, which Brendon shakes smoothly with his free hand, because his other hand has snaked around Spencer's waist and okay holy shit Brendon's right hand is currently resting in Spencer's back pocket. _Brendon's hand is currently resting on Spencer's ass_.

Spencer maybe wants to die a little. 

Brendon's making polite conversation. Spencer honestly has no idea what he's talking about, he can vaguely tell that Brendon is charming the fuck out of half of jazz band, but the only thing Spencer can focus on is Brendon's hand on his right ass cheek, and how Spencer is apparently way more sensitive to touch there than he has previously believed to be humanly possible. Brendon's hand starts traveling up, past Spencer's waist and his upper back, trailing softly over the fabric of Spencer's shit, and Spencer curses himself for removing his jacket earlier and tries really hard not to fidget as if this were the first time he were getting half-groped in public by his boyfriend. 

Brendon's hand settles at the base of Spencer's head, softly stroking the hair at the nape of his neck, fingers smooth and soft and steady and oh god, Spencer can't help it, he closes his eyes and leans into Brendon's shoulder just a smidgen because it feels so good. "USU's pretty great," Brendon is saying to someone, "It's a pretty conservative area, so the really good parties are mostly underground," and Spencer feels Brendon pressing him closer, fitting Spencer beside him like they're—

Like they're everything Spencer's been saying they were for the past few months.

Brendon's fingers press in a bit rougher, scratching the back of Spencer's neck, and Spencer jolts up from whatever voodoo haze Brendon had plied him into, Jesus, what were they teaching him in college. 

Brendon turns to Spencer with a small, pleased smile on his face. "Sorry, guys," he tells the others, eyes still on Spencer, like he's the only thing in the room. "Picture time."

Spencer manages not to look completely drunk, he hopes, as their pictures are taken—one with both of them grinning at the camera, one with Brendon making one of his fucked up faces. 

"Who's that?" Brendon murmurs (close to Spencer's ear, still _soapy-sweaty-clean_ ), tilting his head at the flock of admirers he's managed to collect in the barely-hour he's spent in Spencer's high school, all of them gawking and whispering and cooing. 

Spencer looks at the guy Brendon had indicated. Mike is standing on the fringes of the group, holding his date's hand, looking awkward and uncomfortable. "That's Mike," Spencer says. "He's the guy who—"

"I know who Mike is," Brendon says, voice dropping half an octave, and he pulls Spencer closer, almost possessively.

In their third photo, Brendon is kissing Spencer's cheek. 

Ten minutes later, back on the dance floor, Spencer can still feel his lips on his skin.

*

After about two hours of mingling and dancing and drinking sweet, non-alcoholic punch, it's time for the coronation ceremony, and Brendon and Spencer sneak out of the gym. 

Spencer shows Brendon the rest of the school—it's a little weird that Brendon's never been here before, that he can be one of Spencer's best friends but have such a huge piece of Spencer's life completely absent from his mind. Spencer shows him Imaginary Ryan's seat, takes him down to the practice room to show off some drumming he doesn't have the equipment for in his home kit, and Brendon shows him some stuff he's been working on at school. Whenever someone passes next to them, Brendon takes Spencer's hand, or leans against Spencer's shoulder, and really, Brendon should earn some kind of Oscar for the award-winning acting he's been displaying this whole evening, he's so into it. Spencer could not have chosen a more perfect fake boyfriend if he'd tried. 

They end up on the second story of the school, looking down at the gym through an open window. The March Vegas air is cold and dry, and Spencer presses closer to Brendon, just to warm up; Brendon's body temperature is still, always has been, a couple degrees above Spencer's. 

"Man, I don't miss high school at all," Brendon says. 

Spencer looks out into the distance, lights form the Strip outlining the horizon. "I'm glad you and Ryan left, but sometimes I hate you for leaving," he admits. 

Brendon touches his knuckles to Spencer's in acknowledgement, and then just slips his hand into Spencer's own. "I really wish you were up there with me," Brendon says. 

Spencer looks at him with surprise. "Yeah?"

"Dude, of course." Brendon nudges him. "I mean, I have a few friends at school—I think you'd really get along with them, and I'm taking a few classes I think you'd like, so I think there's a lot you'd enjoy about college anyway, but. Mostly I just miss having you around. I was the lonely new kid too, there, for a while."

Spencer turns that over in his mind. He hadn't really thought about it that way. Brendon's seemed so much older and self-confident since he moved away, and now, swooping in to save the very last remains of Spencer's pride and reputation with this suave new boyfriend persona. It's been easy to forget that Brendon may have graduated early, but he's still only six months older than Spencer. 

Spencer squeezes his hand. He doesn't know if it's weird, doesn't know what they're playing right now, friends or fake boyfriends, holding hands when no one's there to see. 

A cheer rises from below them. It looks like the dance has officially ended, couples and groups slowly filtering out of the gym.

"Party's over," he forces himself to say.

"I think we were invited to, like, six after-parties," Brendon tells him. He cocks an eyebrow. "Wanna go?"

Spencer looks down at the students below, probably all headed towards pre-booked hotel rooms, or after-parties, or diners, and he wants—he wants to do all of those things, he realizes with despair, all of them, with Brendon. He wants so badly to be the couple they'd pretended to be all night.

Suddenly he can't stand the thought of another two hours of faking it.

"No," he says, swallowing down a weirdly inconvenient lump in his throat. "You're off the hook, we can go home now."

"You sure?" Brendon asks.

Spencer nods. "Yeah."

Brendon stays in character, his hand a steady light presence on Spencer's waist as they had back to the car. Spencer files it away for the future; this is what having a boyfriend feels like. This is what having _Brendon_ as a boyfriend feels like.

Ryan was right. It's really fucking nice.

*

"Thank you," Spencer says when they pull into his parents' driveway. "I can't even, I mean. You know. Thank you." 

"Dude, I really did have a great time," Brendon says. "Stop apologizing. Come on, I'll walk you to your door."

"You don't have to—"

"Did I or did I not promise you the awesomest date ever?" he says. He looks so earnest, like he's not just humoring Spencer. He really is a fantastic actor. "Come on. It's not a real date if I don't walk you to your door."

"Okay," Spencer relents. Walking him to his door, what does that even _mean_ , Spencer feels like he's some kind of eighteenth century heroine who needs escorting back to her parents' estate. 

Brendon follows Spencer to the front steps of his house, close enough to touch, and Spencer realizes that Brendon's carrying his jacket, which is a perfect excuse to blame his shivers on the cold instead of on Brendon's proximity. 

They stop in front of the door. "So," Brendon says, and Spencer reaches out for his jacket, but Brendon drapes it over his shoulders instead, fingertips brushing the top of Spencer's arms. 

Spencer's heart starts beating faster. 

Right.

"So," Brendon says again. The yellow light from the street lamp makes his hair look really soft and full. Not unlike his lips. Fuck. "I had a really great time tonight."

"Me too," Spencer says. "Thanks, again—"

"Spence, seriously," Brendon says, rolling his eyes. "Quit it with the thank yous, I _had fun_." 

"Okay, okay!" Spencer says, fidgeting. Brendon is standing really close to him now. It's not cold enough for air to frost, but if it were, Spencer thinks he'd be able to see Brendon's breaths tickling the end of his nose, and probably more than anything else in the world right now Spencer wants to kiss him, wants to bite Brendon's lip and hear what he sounds like, wants this entire date to have been real, instead of Brendon being a fake fake fake boyfriend faking his way through a pretend relationship.

Which is why he seriously doesn't expect to hear Brendon say, in a near whisper, low and even, "Spence, have you ever been kissed?" 

Spencer's heart jumps to his throat, pounding _fake fake fake fake fake_ , but he can't help it; he closes his eyes and shakes his head.

"Okay," Brendon says softly, and Spencer opens his eyes again to look into Brendon's. They're a deep, deep brown, a little wide and gentle as they take Spencer in, and Spencer can barely breathe as Brendon says, "Can I kiss you?"

 _Please, yes_ , Spencer wants to say, but he can't, not like this, not if it's just for—if it's not _real_. His chest aches, and it's one of the hardest things Spencer's had to say in his life, but he says it.

"No."

Brendon's eyes widen. "I—oh," he says. "I thought..." He trails off, looking for Spencer's answer.

"I can't, B," Spencer pleads. "Not if we're just—you've done enough, you don't have to do this for me too."

"Do what?" Brendon asks, confused. 

"Seal our fake date with a kiss, or whatever," he says. "Or kiss me because it's, like, my once chance of getting kissed in this lifetime. I don't want that. Not if you don't mean it."

"You think I don't mean it?" Brendon runs a hand through his hair, and the look he gives Spencer is both incredulous and fond. "I'm so fucking nervous my palms have been sweating for the past half hour."

"I—" Spencer stops short. "Oh."

 _Well_. Huh. That changes things. 

"Yeah, oh." Brendon steps closer again, a small smile playing on his lips. "If that's what you were worried about, let me assure you that I really really fucking mean it. This isn't—I'd never just do this to humor you." 

That, yeah. That definitely changes things. 

"Spence," Brendon says. "I just came back from a really fun date, and you look really hot, and I really want to kiss you now." 

"Yeah," Spencer breathes. "Yeah, okay, let's do that."

Brendon leans in, and Spencer gets another whiff what he's now just calling the _Brendon_ smell. He closes his eyes and feels Brendon's lips press against his own, soft and cool and gorgeous, and he can feel Brendon smiling against his mouth. Spencer's heart is going about a mile a minute, _kissing kissing I am kissing Brendon, Brendon_ , and when he feels Brendon starting to pull away he can't help it, he slides out his tongue to lick Brendon's lip to see what would happen, and Brendon makes this small, surprised sound, that Spencer thinks is good judging by the accompanying shiver. Holy shit, he can make Brendon make that sound, Spencer thinks. He wonders what other sounds he can make Brendon make. 

Brendon's eyes are darker when Spencer looks at him again, and he licks his lips, and god, Spencer wants to kiss him again, possibly forever. 

"So I hear you're looking for a boyfriend," Brendon says. 

"There was a vacancy in the department." Spencer's chest feels like this jumbled up mess of joy and excitement and want, and Brendon's eyes on him are making him feel hot.

"Well," Brendon says, grinning, and Spencer recognizes what Brendon looks like when he's happy, can't help the thrill that goes through him when he thinks, _because of me_. "Consider it filled."


End file.
